


Fragile But Free

by skepticalphilosopher



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Fun, Humour, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticalphilosopher/pseuds/skepticalphilosopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atalanta and Marcurio take advantage of a sunny day in Skyrim. Shameless fluff, giggles, and bashful humiliation inevitably ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile But Free

**Author's Note:**

> A very short one-shot of my mischievous female bosmer dovahkiin, Atalanta, and the snarky imperial apprentice wizard (non-)pack mule Marcurio. I wanted to contribute something to this fandom and had this little thing kicking around and figured I might as well post it! My first fic on this site - Enjoy!

Marcurio and Atalanta sat together in the grassy knoll, the latter scrambling about to pick flowers and weave them into intricate crowns as the former absorbed the information in his book, eyes furiously scanning over the lines in pure concentration and focus. There was a soft, fragrant breeze blowing off the quaint pond across from them and the sun was shining down its beams of warmth, melting away the snow which had accumulated after the long, harsh winter. When the two had woken up that morning to see that much of the cold, white-blanketed world outside had thawed, they had both been eager to get outside and enjoy the rare day of sunshine and nice weather. The climate in Skyrim was brisk at best, and more often than not stormy clouds veiled the sun from view and various types of precipitation barraged the ground below. But today had proven to be a brief albeit sweet reprieve from the cold.

He was beginning to sense that Atalanta was growing restless, as she kept rocking distractedly back and forth, her fingers working with increasing frenzy as she wove the plants together until she had accumulated a small pile of them by her side. She heaved a long sigh, causing Marcurio’s mouth to twitch slightly at the corners, half in annoyance and half in amusement. When several moments had passed and she’d exhaled yet another bored sigh Marcurio snapped his book shut and turned to her, an eyebrow quirked.

“Is there something you want to say?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Atalanta chewed on her lower lip, her amber eyes sparkling in the dappling sunlight and one of her flower crowns (made from blue mountain flowers, Marcurio could see, which complimented her fiery red hair) atop her head, slightly askew. She frowned for a moment before a light sparked behind her eyes and Marcurio braced himself for one of her crazy ideas.

“Let’s go swimming, Marc! Come on, it’s so nice out, and who knows when we’ll get another opportunity?” she smiled at him, expectant, and Marcurio resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her zany requests. He was going to reply negatively and explain to her that he needed to get through this particular chapter of Dwemer Inquiries, Volume III before nightfall, but the childlike innocence on her face softened his heart.

“Perhaps later. I need to finish this section… But don’t let me stop you from going.” Marcurio forced himself to turn away, reopening his book and burying his nose into it so he was spared with the debilitating task of seeing her crestfallen expression.  
She huffed and folded her arms across her chest as Marcurio watched her covertly from the corner of his eye. He found it more and more difficult to focus on the text on the page before him, the words seemingly floating off into the air and swirling around one another in dizzying circles thanks to her infectious restlessness. 

“Well, you’re no fun.” She said curtly. Marcurio did not deign to reply and instead attempted to recalibrate his focus to the task at hand. Meanwhile Atalanta had reverted back to a mopey disposition, sighing every few minutes or so and playing idly with her flower crowns. Marcurio grit his teeth.

However, after some time had passed he could sense yet another shift in the wood elf’s demeanour. He could see the acquired expression of mirth and mischief on her face that she always adopted when she’d hatched yet another scheme, and he suddenly felt himself grow wary and guarded against her zany grin. She sat up on her haunches, turning to face the cross-legged Marcurio, causing his body to grow rigid with unease. Her grin only stretched further as she slowly leaned toward him, her face becoming increasingly close to his, so that out of the corner of his eyes he could count all her long dark lashes and the subtle splash of constellation like freckles across her nose and high cheekbones. The flowery scent of her crown and skin permeated the air, and Marcurio continued to fix his gaze mechanically on the book in front of him, not realizing that all the words on the page had been reduced to incomprehensible smudges of ink. He might as well have been reading the ancient runes of the Dovah for all he was able to absorb and understand of it. She was so close now that his skin tingled with their prolonged intimacy, and he turned his face subtly to the side, eyes closing as he waited expectantly for the kiss he longed so desperately for. He could sense her plump lips inches away from his own, ghosting across his skin agonizingly but never making contact. He was just about to bridge the short distance between them when she traced her finger lightly up his spine and yanked unceremoniously at the leather tie Marcurio used to fasten his ebony hair into a low ponytail, allowing his locks to break free from their confines and cascade to his shoulders and over his face.

“Hey!” he cried in indignation as she giggled frantically, withdrawing from his proximity and landing on her back on the grass, clutching at her sides with each high pitched chuckle. His left hand involuntarily ran through his hair to push it off his face while the other groped through the tall green grass for the tie, however he noticed belatedly that it was still clutched in her small hand as she laughed at his embarrassment. A small grin winding across his own face at the sight of her in this state, he tossed his book to the ground and covered her body with his, straddling her hips and staring down mock-sternly into her gleeful face. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

She suppressed another laugh by covering her mouth with her hand and wriggled beneath him impatiently. A strand of his ebony hair fell forward over his ear and tickled her cheek, causing her to reach out and curl it around her index finger and examine it with newfound curiosity. “Your hair is soft,” she commented, causing a soft blush to spread in Marcurio’s tan complexion. “You should wear it down more often. I like it.”

He snorted in exasperation and disbelief, pulling his head back before she could twine her fingers through his hair. “Yeah, you would love to see me humiliated, wouldn’t you?”

She allowed herself to giggle before taking him off guard, shifting their position so that she was the one hovering over him, her hands on either side of his face and a wicked grin blossoming on her lips. Marcurio’s breath hitched; the sunlight streaming behind her framed her face beautifully, creating a halo of light around her delicate head. Each ray turned her hair into a waterfall of copper cascading over her shoulders. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could even stop to consider their implications, and they were both momentarily shocked to hear them come from the usually aloof and distant Marcurio. His hazel eyes widened for a moment in surprise and embarrassment as he quickly scrambled to cover up his tracks with incoherent ramblings. 

Atalanta laughed and gazed at him fondly, leaning down over his face to press her lips to his left ear and whispering softly, “You’re quite beautiful, yourself.”

With that she drew away quickly, leaving Marcurio to grow even more indignant and laughing hysterically at the expression blooming on his face. “Okay, very funny. You said you wanted to go for a swim?” Marcurio said good-naturedly, sitting up and slinging Atalanta over his shoulder as effortlessly as if she weighed no more than a sack of flower. She protested only feebly, her laughs and exuberant giggles taking away from the effect of her exasperated words as he walked her over to the still, clear pond across the clearing and paused at its banks.

“If I’m going in, you’re coming with me!” Atalanta cried, and Marcurio, for once, threw reason to the wind before tossing her into the water and diving in after her.


End file.
